Awakening
by Danger-Idiot
Summary: Nooj's journey from unconsciousness to life.


Nooj felt himself floating, suspended in time. Somehow he knew he was unconscious, possibly dying. That fact didn't bother him much. He wouldn't consider himself a deathseeker, but then again, he didn't put a very high price on his life either.

He looked around; he seemed to be in the proverbial tunnel, but instead of the bright light at one end that he expected there were two lights, one at both ends. One was very bright, otherworldly. He inherently knew that that way was death. The other light was softer, like light filtering through old canvas. That way was back to consciousness, life. He thought for a moment. That last battle had been spectacular, possibly the "going out in a blaze of glory" that he was seeking. But then again, there might be another mission, a more daring one, a more impressive one to die in. Possibly that operation mi'hen everyone was raving about.

Nah, this was as good a note as any to go out on, him, leading his men from the front, a straight charge towards a horrendously large sinspawn. He had seen from the corners of his eyes that many of his squadron were peeling off, dropping their weapons, deserting from fear. Not him, his theory was if you are apathetic to all possible consequences fear seemspointless. Yes, he supposed that was a good time. Death should be exciting.

He started pushing his consciousness, his soul, towards the very bright end of the tunnel. Suddenly there was resistance, like wading through deep water. He pushed on until he had to stop completely. Well, obviously not his time yet. He turned and made his way towards the other end, the life end. He didn't really mind, there would be other battles. There was stuff he wanted to do topside anyway.

Pain, light, noise.

Nooj returned to his body with a start. Every bit of him hurt. He could feel it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His vision was blurred, whether because he was dazed or because he wasn't wearing his glasses he didn't know yet. He appeared to be in a tent, he guessed that it was one of the field healer's tents. He could make out a girl who was probably a white mage standing near him.

He tried to move but this was unproductive, it only produced more pain and no motion. He decided to wait until someone explained things to him. He didn't like waiting.

The girl noticed that he was conscious and walked over to where he was lying.

"Nooj, can you hear me?"

"Yes, what happened?" His voice sounded raspier than usual and it even hurt to talk.

"You have been badly wounded, you need rest. Sleep"

Nooj was a good enough reader of people to know she was deliberately avoiding his question. It was one of his many talents, intrinsically knowing when people were lying or being evasive. Right now though he was too weak to argue. He felt a sleep spell descending onto him and he blissfully welcomed the relief it gave. With no one around except that rather immature mage he could permit his own weakness. He slept.

When he next awoke his mind felt clearer and he could move his head slightly. The pain was still all prevalent though. He moved his head slowly from side to side.

There! On a small table on his right were his glasses. He tried experimentally to reach his hand out to grab them. Yes, movement. Jerky, but still existent. Since he was lying flat on his back he couldn't see anything except horizontally to the left and right and directly up. He managed to grab his glasses and relocate them to his face. What he saw of his hand was what he expected, burns, scrapes, stitched cuts. Nothing major, but still painful. With some decent healing spells they would be nothing more than scars to add to his at already extensive collection within a couple of weeks.

Now he could see properly. He was in a canvas tent; it was either sundown or sunup because the light filtering through the fabric was at a low angle. He was not in one of the major urban healing centres, there were too many dust motes floating around for him to be anywhere but a field healer's tent. Besides these few facts he would have to wait until he was filled in on the events of his life at the moment by someone else. This annoyed him greatly; he hated being dependant on anyone for anything. Thankfully the young mage entered after a few minutes, closely followed by his commanding officer. With his glasses on he recognized the girl as being one of his more recent one night "acquaintances". Blonde, pretty but dull. She was wearing a short white robe with yevonite symbols along the sleeves. He had had her more simply because he could than because he particularly liked her. She stood shyly in the corner of the room while his officer spoke to him. He felt very slightly guilty that he couldn't remember her name.

"Nooj, I see you are awake and presumably coherent. This is good. The people of Spira are greatly in your debt over your brave actions against Sin. Nooj the undying they are calling you. You should be very proud."

"That is all well and good but where am I? What are the extent of my injuries? And when will I be able to return to the field?" Nooj knew that this was not the proper way to address a superior but he had never liked the subservient manner that was expected and well, he was such a valued crusader and fearless fighter that the officers usually turned a blind eye to his rudeness. Also he was beginning to get into a very bad mood.

"Slow down, you have only just awoken. You must not overstress yourself. You are in the healer's tent at the crusader camp in mushroom rock. As to the rest there is no easy way to say this so you might as well see for yourself."

He motioned to the girl to push a few rough wool blankets behind Nooj to support him in sitting more upright.

What he saw made him want to A: retch B: hit something very hard and C: silently despair.

Sadly C was the only viable option at the moment. Hitting things was both beyond him and undignified, and his stomach felt too empty to retch. Despair it was then.

Most of his left side was just, gone. From the shape of the reddish brown frayed blanket he could tell that his left leg now ended a bit before his knee, the oddest thing was that he could still feel his leg, every bit of it. He felt as if glass was being pressed into the sole of his foot, the foot that didn't exist anymore. His arm was even worse because the blanket didn't go up far enough to hide his eyes from the blatant missingness. The stump of his arm extended to about 6 inches down from his badly mangled shoulder, ending in a slightly bloody bandage. His arm was the same, he could feel it - he could feel his fingers curling into a fist in anger, his nails digging into the softer skin of his palm. But obviously they weren't. He could now locate the source of most of his pain from both the non existent parts of him and from the actual amputation sites. His nervous system was getting confused, and overloaded with conflicting pain transmissions.

This was too much for him; if there weren't others present he would have screamed at the top of his lungs, just to let his anger out. He didn't, he wouldn't show weakness in front of others.

For some reason he had never factored in becoming disabled in his fear consequences theory. He had always thought of things as life or death, not this feeble compromise. Permanent injuries were rare in Spira, with a competent white mage most things would heal quickly. Unfortunately regrowing body parts was not one of their skills.

One of the main reasons he was such a recklessly brave fighter was that he couldn't stand the thought of being old and infirm. Live fast, die young, go out in a blaze of glory.

Not this.


End file.
